


Recovery

by MutteringsofMadness



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Best Friends, Child Abuse, Chocolate, Dreams and Nightmares, Electricity, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Killua Focus Character Studies, Killua/Gon friendship, Lightning - Freeform, Non-graphic vomiting, Poison, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Torture, Trauma Recovery, Young Killua
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-14 12:10:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15388458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MutteringsofMadness/pseuds/MutteringsofMadness
Summary: It was a Zoldyck thing. Taking what you loved and turning it against you. But Killua was done with "Zoldyck things." And he was going to reverse that damage if he died trying. (Series of Killua-centric oneshot character studies)





	1. Sweets

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted from FF.net  
> Characters and world aren’t mine.  
> WARNING: Contains description of vomiting. It’s not over-graphic, but if that stuff really freaks you out, you might not want to read.  
> To clarify any confusion, the first section takes place when Killua’s about 4 or 5, the second when he’s 7, and the final one when he’s 12.

“Kills.”

His brother’s voice made him look up.

Illumi’s head tilted.  “You like chocolate.”

He nodded, even though it wasn’t a question.

Illumi nodded back, and Killua smiled hesitantly at him, popping another piece of candy into his mouth.

The next day found him doubled over in the corner of his room, retching up everything he’d eaten in the past two days.  His eyes found the packet of sweets, resting innocently on his bed.  The taste of poison, chocolate and bile imprinted itself on his tongue.

* * *

Killua frowned, crumpling the packet of chocolate in his hands slightly.  It crunched faintly, almost cheerfully, but only made him frown.  Usually, he wouldn’t have even looked twice at the candy, much less used his hard-fought money to _buy_ it.  But he’d seen something on the street, while walking back to the tower after his dinner.  There were half a dozen boys, sharing a package of chocolate between them.  Smiling.  Laughing.  Fighting over the stuff.

It brought back weird memories in him.  He almost remembered the taste of it.  He almost remembered that it made him smile, just like those boys had been.

Still.  He was afraid to open the package.  His stomach was churning, already protesting the thought of putting the sweet into it.

“It’s not poisoned this time,” he told himself.  It couldn’t be.  His parents and his brother didn’t even know (or care) where he was.  There was no way that they could have slipped poison into this small box of Chocorobokun.

Besides.  He wasn’t about to get shown up by a couple of _six year olds._ If they could handle the chocolate, so could he.

That thought echoing proudly in his head, he ripped open the package, holding his breath to keep the smell from reaching him first.  One of the candies was popped into his mouth.  For a moment, a taste touched his tongue.  One that was both sweet and bitter at the same time.

He barely made it to the toilet in time, as the sound of him retching up the chocolate filled the air.

He sat back up against the wall, the tiles cool against his sweating neck, as he wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand.  What was wrong with him?  There was no poison, no _reason_ for him to vomit back up a piece of freaking candy.  So what was wrong with him?

He shook his head, and flushed the toilet, making his way back into the room to glare at the box sitting innocently on his bed.  He was seven years old, a 140th floor contender in heaven’s arena, and a _Zoldyck_ for crying out loud.  There was no reason he couldn’t keep down a little, inconsequential ball of chocolate.

Despite the bile already rising in his throat, he grabbed up another piece of candy, throwing it into his mouth and biting down hard.

He had run out of food to vomit up.  After fifteen minutes.

After a full hour, his throat was burning, muscles aching from the exertion.  His eyes watered harshly, and a sheen of sweat coated his skin.  He was in his now permanent position, hunched over the toilet bowl, leaning against it as he glared again at the innocent box a foot or two away from him.

How had something so simple brought about his downfall in such a terrible way?  He didn’t even _want_ to eat it anymore.  But now, it was a matter of pride.  If those six year olds could handle it, he could.  Right?

He spit out the last of the acid from his mouth, and grabbed the box, leaning up against the wall.  It was cool against his nearly feverish skin, though it did little to help the headache pounding through his brain.  He shook the box, and it rattled.  He nearly groaned.  There was still some left.  He almost _wanted_ to be out of the stuff.  Then he could burn the box, and pretend the whole incident _never_ happened.  But no.

He tipped the box, and one chocolate ball fell out.  One.  He shook the package to be sure, but indeed, there was only one left.

“Alright,” he said to himself, voice raw.  “It’s a piece of chocolate.  You like chocolate.”

More humiliating tears burned at his eyes and his stomach writhed in anticipation.  He was so _done_ with this.  He wanted the torture to be over.  _Not yet,_ the little candy seemed to taunt him.

He raised it level with eyes, and took in a deep, bracing breath.

“Kills.   You like chocolate.”

His brother’s voice rang out in his memory so clearly, he almost thought Illumi was in the room.  But that was impossible.  He closed his eyes against the too-realistic image of his brother’s unblinking eyes, and forced the chocolate between his lips.

He clamped his jaw shut, all of the muscles in his body going tense.  His stomach protested viciously, his throat convulsing, spine rippling.

But then.  It all went still.

His mouth...was empty.  As was the toilet bowl.  The chocolate...was...In his _stomach._

He jumped to his feet, grinning suddenly.  “I _do_ like chocolate!  You hear that, bro!?” he spat at the walls of the bathroom, almost jumping in ecstasy.  “I _like_ it!”

He became aware of a taste on his tongue, cutting through the taste of bile and humiliation.  Sweet.  And bitter.  And chocolate!  He was tasting chocolate!  And it was in his stomach!  And he _liked it!_

He sort of slid down the wall as his exhausted muscles gave out.  “Got it bro?” he murmured, voice sounding and feeling like gravel, despite the sudden shot of adrenaline that had burst through his veins.  _I like chocolate._

He fell asleep that night, in the cold corner of his bathroom, the taste of chocolate, vomit and triumph on his tongue.

_Without_ the sweetness of poison.

* * *

“Aunt Mito says that eating sweets before bed is bad for you,” Gon intoned from the door.

“Killua says that I don’t care,” he drawled back, popping another chocolate ball into his mouth.

He could hear the frown in Gon’s voice even without looking at him.  “You’ll never get to sleep properly, though.”

“Don’t _worry,”_ Killua said, giving him a dismissive wave. “I’ve done this before.”

“But Killua—“

“Goodnight,” he chimed, tossing away his empty Chocorobokun box.

“Don’t—“

“Good.  Night,” he repeated, before skillfully throwing a pillow, and slamming the door of his room shut in his best friend’s face.

Once the room was silent, he flopped back onto the bed.  He was long past sugar affecting his sleep schedule, luckily.  Elsewise, Gon would have been totally correct.  And one does not simply prove Gon Freecs correct.  With a sigh, he closed his eyes.

_Kills.  You like chocolate._

“Hell yeah I do,” he murmured into the darkness, a smile finding its way onto his lips.

The taste of chocolate and freedom filled his mouth.

 


	2. Lightning

He liked this room the best.  Well, he liked it best out of all of the torture rooms in the mansion.  In general, he didn’t like the torture chambers much at all, but if he had to be in one, he’d want it to be this one.  If he craned his neck just right, and dislocated his left wrist enough to slip it a bit out of its manacle, out of the corner of his eye, he could see the sliver of window running along the top of the wall.

It was his favorite kind of night as well.  Vicious, indecisive wind battered the stone walls of the mansion while gray and black clouds churned in the sky.  Rain fell in sheets against the reinforced glass pane of the window and in the very _best_ moments, jagged fingers of white light would split the heavens.  While he couldn’t hear it, buried in the convoluted passageways and darkness of the mansion, he knew that outside, the whole world was rattling with the resonating crunch of thunder.

The door of the room slammed closed, and locked, and he tore his gaze away from the flickering light of the storm, to see his brother’s eyes were also fixed on the window.  Slowly, his eyes slid over to meet Killua’s.  Neither Zoldyck spoke a word.

Killua found his breath short in his chest, and was unable to look away from his brother’s dark, lightless eyes.  Illumi moved towards the table at the side of the room, and picked something up.  A crackling sound filled the air, and that lightning Killua so much enjoyed was suddenly reflected onto Illumi’s eyes.

His spine arched, his muscles clenched, and his screams along with the smell of burning flesh and hair filled the air.

* * *

He’d had a bad feeling all afternoon.

No, that was a dramatic understatement.

He’d had a _terrible_ feeling all afternoon.

The wind was unpredictable and wild, hot, then cold; up, then down, then blowing harshly to the right.  The sky had been a tumult of massive, looming clouds, and the air was heavy, dark and moist, threatening to pour down rain any moment.  Every inch of his skin was prickling with the worst kind of anticipation.

There was nowhere to take shelter.  Only a few trees dotted the scrubby landscape, and those couldn’t help him at all.  He spit out a curse.  He should have taken an airship.  Who cares if it would have cost him some pocket money?  It would keep him out of the storm that was threatening to burst free at any moment.

He practically flew over the terrain, his feet barely touching the long grass beneath him.  His skin was sweaty, but that didn’t matter, as the sky let out a horrendous groan, and the downpour began, pelting him with massive, near-painful raindrops.  “Damn,” he hissed as his clothing was drenched, weighting down his fast footsteps.  Of course this storm would manage to slow him down.

A flash lit the sky, and his eyes snapped closed on instinct, memories forcing their way into the forefront of his mind.  His spine ached.  His skin felt anew the scars that were left behind.

And since his attention had left his desperate flight across the grassland, his foot caught a tussock, and he went tumbling, head over heels.  He resisted the urge to shout out in distress, especially as a peal of thunder wracked the air around him, seeming to shake the very roots of the earth.  He was on his feet in a second, trying not to tremble as he went back to running.

_It’s just lightning,_ he assured himself.  _Just a bit of lightning.  It won’t hurt you._

Another bolt of lightning split the sky, and this time, he only cringed a bit, though he bit down on his tongue hard enough to make it bleed.  The sickly bitter smell of ozone filled his nose, and even though it wasn’t there, he could almost smell burning hair and skin as well.

As he ran, gasping, it seemed almost like the lightning was following him.  Every strike, it was getting closer, gaining on him.  And with every strike, more memories came back.  The tears.  The blisters.  The aching bones.  And his brother’s lightless eyes, glittering with the reflection of pretty strands of electricity.

He tried to force his body to move faster, to move himself farther away from the danger, but it _wasn’t working._ He couldn’t move any faster.  Everything ached, and the rain nearly blinded him, and he could _still_ feel his brother’s gaze on him, the twin stun guns in his hands, coming closer, closer...

His hair was lifting, skin prickling, heart _pounding,_ bones throbbing, but he couldn’t move fast enough, couldn’t _escape—_

Everything went white.

...

...

...

His breath and sight and feelings came back to him with a ragged, gusty gasp.

He was flat on his back, still at last, rain pelting down on him, soothing his now burning skin.

He looked up the sky, and realized that he hadn’t escaped.  He hadn’t been fast enough.  He’d been struck by a bolt of lightning.

And he was _alive._

Even a weak bolt of lightning was easily ten times more powerful than anything his brother had _ever_ tested him with.

His very bones ached.  He reeked of burning hair and skin.  He could tell he was covered with blisters.  He could hardly catch his breath, much less _move._

But he was _alive._

He’d taken on ten time’s his brother’s worst, and he was still breathing, and very much alive and okay.

_Take that, Illumi,_ he thought, though his brain was still skittering around like a hummingbird on steroids.

Above him, the sky churned, fingers of white light leaping between the thick clouds.  He watched with wide, fearless eyes, and found a laugh, breathless, hysterical and _free_ filling the air around him along with the smell of ozone and rain.

* * *

His arm throbbed a bit, at the point where the Taser had been against his skin, trying to distract him from the task at hand.  He closed his eyes, and took in a breath, calming his heartbeat.  He could feel the electricity, the power pulsing through him, filling him to the brim.  Lightning.

_I_ am _lightning,_ he thought to himself, focusing hard on dragging large swaths of aura to his hands.

His eyes flew open as a slight crackling noise hit his ears.  By the time he was looking though, the spark was gone, the only evidence of its existence his dully stinging fingertips.  _Focus._ Breathing slowly and fully, he gathered his nen again, picturing it flowing through him along with the electricity, pulsing and fluctuating, a wave of inseparable energy...

A flickering line of light connected his two fingers, and a grin broke over his face.

The sound of Gon’s mental misfires filled the air, along with the smell of ozone, and _power._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! There's one more chapter to this that I'm sure I'll be putting up tomorrow, so please enjoy. I love comments and critique. Have a great day!


	3. Dreams

He used to like dreams.

The dreams he had were always filled with sunshine and places without walls, where he could run for hours and hours, and never be stopped or get tired.  He would wake up from those dreams smiling, with a soft, warm feeling in his chest, wanting to roll over and sleep again so he could be in those nice places again.

As he grew older though, those dreams stopped coming to him.  Most nights, he would pass out the instant he stopped supporting his own weight, and wake from this deathlike sleep more exhausted then he had been before it.  Then, after 72 consecutive hours of training, he would collapse and repeat that cycle.

That wasn’t too bad though, compared to the alternative.

The sound of his own scream jerked him into sitting up, his breath heaving in his chest, everything soaked in a cold sweat.  He curled up his knees to his chest, his entire body wracked with trembling as a dry sob escaped from his lips.  His room was so dark.  So dark and gaping and massive and empty and oh god he didn’t want to be _alone—_

He tried to close his eyes, but the darkness there was no less comforting than the shadows swirling in the rest of his room.  It was all so cold and empty and he was so afraid—

He startled hard as the door slammed open, the heavy steel slab cracking the cinderblock wall on impact.

Killua sat, frozen in fear, though his hands shook.  There was the intent of killing rolling in waves from the figure he recognized as Illumi.

“Brother...” Killua choked out.

“The family is sleeping,” Illumi droned.  He didn’t need a frightful tone to be terrifying.  His cold monotony had Killua acting on instinct, pulling his blankets up to his chin, as if the fabric might offer him some security from the angel of death in his doorway.  Tears stung at his eyes.

“But—“

“You should be too.”

“Brother!” Killua called out, his voice cracking in fear.  Illumi turned slowly, his eyes boring into Killua’s.  “I’m—“ The door crashed closed on Killua’s pleading tone, even as he finished his sentence.  “—scared.”

His tiny voice seemed to echo into the looming darkness of his room, and he fell into the warmth of his blankets, clutching at his hair as more sobs wracked his body.  He was alone.  He didn’t want to be alone.  Something in his chest _ached_ like breaking.

Had he even woken from his nightmare at all?

* * *

It was like he was a puppet, yanked into sitting up from his cot, a near-silent gasp leaving his lips.

He tried to catch his breath, running a shaking hand back through his sweaty hair, ignoring the sick feeling in his gut.  Damn dreams...he hated them.  What did he have to be scared of in his own mind?

_A lot._

He ignored that annoying mental voice.

“Killua?” another voice said softly, this one most certainly not in his mind.

He ignored Gon in favor of closing his eyes, forcing his heartbeat to slow.  He swallowed hard against the irritating thickness of his throat, clenching his trembling hands in his hair.  _Shut up,_ he told his mind.  He wasn’t a whiny kid.  A nightmare didn’t shake him up that much.

“Killua, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes squeezed closed against tears and darkness.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

Gon’s sleepy tone shot right through him.  He knew.  Killua’s eyes snapped open, to find that Gon was half sitting up in his cot, his gaze still bleary.  Killua swallowed hard and took in a steadying breath.  “Go back to sleep, Gon.”  _Damn_ the way his voice cracked on his friend’s name.

Gon only frowned, rubbing at his eyes.  “Are you crying?”

Killua’s eyes widened further.  “Holy sh—no!” he brought up a hand to wipe at his slightly _watery_ eyes.  “I’m not _crying.”_

Gon tilted his head slightly in confusion.  “It’s alright to be afraid, you know,” he explained, as if that was the simplest thing in the world.

Killua snorted, before throwing himself back onto his pillows.  “Yeah, whatever.”

“We all have nightmares, you know, it’s not—“

“Leave off _,”_ he growled.  “Just go back to sleep, Gon.”

“But—“

“Gon!”

Finally, his friend fell silent, and Killua heard him lying back down.

_Good,_ Killua said to himself.  Now he could go back to pretending that none of that happened.  Pretend that nothing hurt.  Like he was supposed to.  He ignored his shaking hands at that odd ache that filled him, to close his eyes.

“You’re not alone any more, you know.”

Though barely audible, Gon’s words shot through him like a bullet.  Tears prickled viciously at his eyes, his throat filling with heat, fists clenching in the blankets around him.  _Not alone._

He tilted his head enough to see the lumpy, sleeping form of his best friend.

_Not alone._

Suddenly, it felt like he was finally waking up from his nightmare.

* * *

With a soft sigh, his eyes fell open.  He squinted, against the sunlight, before rolling onto his side, covering his head with blankets.  “Shut _up,”_ he groaned at the door.

The seemingly ceaseless knocking fell silent, and there was a pause before Gon’s voice was floating through the door.  “Killua, it’s ten in the morning.”

“To early,” he protested, curling further into his blankets.

“I’ll come in there, if you don’t get up.  I’ll give you five seconds.”

Killua winced.  Last time Gon had said that, Killua had been ‘accidentally’ rolled out a window.  It was a fifth floor room too.  Now that he was in a room on the fifty-fourth floor, he really didn’t want to repeat that particular incident.

“Five...Four...”

“I’m not a four year old!” Killua shouted towards Gon. 

The boy only continued to count down.  “Three...Two...”

“Fine!” Killua cried, tearing himself up from the bed with a litany of muttered curses.  “I’m awake you hyperactive _prat!”_

He didn’t need to see Gon’s face to know that he was smiling as he chirped, “Great!  I’ll see you in ten minutes for breakfast!”

Killua groaned, and was half tempted to roll back over in bed.  But the sun _was_ already up...He hauled himself onto his feet, stretching his arms over his head.  “I was having the _best_ dream too.”

It was safe to say that the nightmare was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all for now folks! If I'm inspired I'll throw another chapter or two on here, but for now this is is. Thanks to all who read and commented and otherwise welcomed me to this lovely community. I'm looking forward to posting more soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! I'm new here, just trying to get adjusted to the different formats and posting here before I start a longer story. Any comments are deeply enjoyed especially if I've done anything wrong or even not quite right with formatting. Constructive criticism is taken and loved. I've got plenty thick skin. Thanks!


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